Dreamscape
by RosenDaze
Summary: After Matthew gets a strange inquiry under his pillow from someone called the Dream Faction Administrator, telling him that he'd broken a law just by dreaming, the teen finds himself thrown into a slope of issues and strange events that lead him to a twisted world he thought he'd only ever see in his warped dreams. / Rated M for violence and possible adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

Matthew lightly skipped his weight from foot to foot as he waited at the bus stop outside his work-A hospital. He rubbed his hands together before cupping them in front of his face, giving a deep chest-drawn breath into them to try and warm them up, the air that escaped them solidifying into a white cloud in front of him. Though his shoulders were hunched to bunch his plaid printed scarf higher around his neck, his cheeks and nose were rosy, body giving small shivers under his crimson woolen coat. The sidewalk he was on led back to the hospital, a rather modern-looking building, with most of its walls consisting of nothing more than glass due to the high number of windows.

The teenager of nineteen worked as an intern to the nurses there, helping with minor things, and allowed to simply observe on more important procedures. When Matthew was little, his toys consisted of plastic thermometers and stethoscopes, slowly taking a transformation into computerized surgeon simulators and virtual procedures. He'd always loved the idea of being a doctor, finding it a great way to help people. His father, Francis, did what he could to support Matthew's dream job, despite the fact that his simple job as a hairdresser had trouble paying for his schooling.

Matthew and Francis had a close relationship as father and son, and did a lot of things together in their free time. They cooked together, cleaned the house together, and did the occasional day of ice skating or ice hockey in the winter time. The latter mostly consisted of Francis using the hockey stick to hold himself up and Matthew skating circles around him. But nonetheless, they both had fun.

The younger teen was quick to hop up onto the warmth of the bus when it pulled up, shoving his monthly-paid bus pass into the scanner before taking his seat, saying nothing in reply to the driver's comment that his pass only held a few more days. He'd need to get that renewed at the local motor vehicle department soon. He headed to the back and sat in an empty seat, tugging his bag close to his side as he glanced out the window. Having a long journey ahead of him, he laid his head back and closed his eyes to rest them, a hand draped protectively over the top of his bag.

Soon enough, the teen was dozing off where he sat, head having lolled over to rest against the window. As he dozed, he dreamed of impossible things-As he always had. Small people with wings, talking animals, houses with legs, inanimate objects that acted of their own accord... Foolish things, he was aware, but things he'd always found in dreams. Matthew simply blamed it on an overactive imagination, since that's what Francis described it as.

Matthew was just starting to delve deep into a dreamscape of a world when the bus hit a rough bump, the jolt of the vehicle banging his head rather roughtly against the window and waking him immediately. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing the affected area, glancing around a moment with a sigh. "Did I fall asleep again?" He mumbled, his question being answered when a yawn rose up his throat. After seeing a familiar couple houses pass by, he figured he'd been woken just in time to catch his stop, quickly straightening his coat and standing in the isle with the others who had to get off next.

The old vehicle squealed and creaked when it stopped at the street corner, and the passengers filed out slowly, one by one. Matthew was right behind them, taking a right and heading down the block by himself. His shoes clicked faintly against the concrete of the sidewalk, the old yet familiar streetlights casting a sickly yellow glow on the younger, a few of them flickering rapidly, trying vainly to stay alight. Once Matthew reached the correct house, he drew his keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door, heading inside. He unpacked quickly, setting his bag on the nearby couch and tossing his uniform to the laundry room. It was late, so he didn't bother announcing to his father that he was home, like he usually would. He simply got into his pajamas and climbed into bed, stretching out for a moment before taking off his glasses and setting them on the bedside stand, dragging the covers up to his neck, and rolling onto his side to relax and get comfortable.

However, the moment his hand slid under his pillow to support it, like it always did, his eyes blinked open again to the abnormal feeling of something under there. Something papery and thick. With a confused expression, he slid it out and held it up to examine it. Even with eyes squinted, he had to hold it out a bit to read it, briefly considering spending the energy to put his glasses back on before the words came into focus. It was an envelope, with just his name scrawled on the front in messy blue writing. It certainly wasn't his father's fancy script.

Slowly he sat up, turning on a small lamp that was nearby and sliding his glasses back onto his face before slowly tearing open the envelope. He took out the enclosed letter, unfolding it and holding it into the light, mouthing the words silently as he read.

_Matthew C. Williams,_

_ It is with deepest regret that we must inform you that you have violated the fifth section of restriction 3 set by the DOM, in that you have continued having unregulated dreams past the age of five. Stop immediately or we will be forced to take action and custody. _

Understandably, the teen was quite confused, hesitating for the shortest of moments before rereading the small paragraph to see if he wasn't simply imagining the printed words.

_You are given one day's notice. We will know if you continue with the forbidden. Sleep well._

_ ~ Dream Faction Administrator_

Matthew stared blankly still at the letter, before meticulously folding it back up and sliding it back into the envelope it came from. The envelope sat in his hands for a few more minutes before he slowly set it on his bedside table, thoughts swimming. How was he supposed to control his dreams? He didn't even know he was breaking a law. He'd never heard anything about laws restricting dreams, or what this DOM was. He wondered what it stood for, making a few guesses as he laid back once more, staring up at his ceiling with round eyes.

The letter, and the tone it used, worried him. He didn't even want to close his eyes now, in fear that he'd dream somehow wrongly once more. Turning his head, he glanced at the door to his bedroom, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. Perhaps it was simply a prank. He considered telling Francis about it, but he didn't want to worry him any more than usual. He was already distressed about bills as it was, he didn't need to concern him with some silly joke.

With a sigh escaping his lips, the teen rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, deciding to dismiss the letter as nothing. It had to be nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Once the gentle numbing blanket of sleep overtook Matthew, a new world, a new story formed fuzzily in his mind. A mystical one of impossibilities, ones that swirled his mind into a downward spiral of content fun and enjoyment. He could feel the soft long grass under his bare feet, the tiny winged people fluttering around his shoulders and head, one deciding to rest on his nose for a moment until the male giggled and swatted her way. The breeze was cool and crisp but, mixed with the gentle warmth of the sun, mingled into a rather comfortable degree that he was completely hesitant to leave, even for his blankets. He wandered the open field he found himself in with his new little friends, the familiar ones he always remembered seeing, his eyes grazing across the barren and pristine area. Much unlike the smoggy city he lived in.

Though, after a few moments of this, his little flying friends gave squeaks and shrill cries of alarm, hiding against the Canadian's chest. He could feel his heart stumble a beat in confusion, gazing down at them for a moment before slowly turn to glance over his shoulder to see what had startled them. The sight indeed startled Matthew as well.

Darkness. Utter darkness. It was if the section of the world behind him had just fallen off into oblivion, the edges of what was left of the earth and grass smudging off as if put into a bad filter of an editing program. A nearby tree was sliced in half by the darkness. Deep into the expanse of nothingness, small lights flickered on and off, tiny and white like stars.

Matthew wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, be it seconds, minutes, or hours, as it certainly felt like the latter, each ticking moment emphasized by the fierce thumping of his heart under his chest, his breath catching and wheezing deep in his throat. Though, as soon as he decided to move, his limbs felt leaden and heavy, resisting his movements. One small step after another was taken towards the gaping hole, his little flying friends tugging on his shirt and hair and anything else they could get a hold of to try and get him back, crying at him not to approach it, but their pleads fell on entranced and deafened ears.

Slowly, Matthew's quivering hand rose to reach over the precipice of the remaining land and into the darkness, which felt strangely cold, as if he were reaching into a freezer. But nothing seemed to happen. Confused and honestly a little disappointed, the male moved to draw his hand back, when suddenly a tendril of the darkness snapped out and coiled around his arm with an unmatched speed of a snake, yanking on the limb harshly. It drew a shocked yelp from Matthew, who went to pull away, only to have the fleshy black attachment constrict his arm, quickly rendering it numb. Another yank and Matthew was on the ground, trying to crawl away, only for more of the whipping tendrils to rise from the blackened ground. They hooked around anything that got near—his arms, legs, waist, even the pull strings of his jacket. Fighting and struggling at this point was useless, he found, his breath coming in ragged frantic gasps, his heart pounding in his ears. But even so, he wriggled and writhed, hoping for any sort of escape or release. And then he heard it. A soft, low, almost soothing voice that whispered from nothingness into his ears, as if the very voice belonged in his head.

"We warned you, Matthew." It spoke. "We warned you."

With that, a blackened hand shot out from the darkness towards his face. The mere instant it reached him, his eyes opened and he found himself back in the peaceful and safe silence of his room. A cold sweat beaded across his brow, the blonde simply staring up at the ceiling. He knew about these sorts of things—Dreams often indicated a real-life issue. He supposed his dream had been nothing more than a simple nightmare, his subconscious worrying about the strange letter he'd gotten. Matthew sighed heavily and rubbed a hand at his face as he carefully sat up. His body ached and weighed heavily as if he'd been thrashing in his sleep, a short glance to his crumpled bed sheets confirming this. The boy got to his feet, a shiver running through him when he felt the chilled wood floor against his bare skin. He walked lightly to the kitchen. He needed a drink.

The only thing that made him pause was when he happened to glance down the hall, and the door was wide open, a drifting breeze causing the teen to shiver and wrap his arms around himself.

"The hell?" he murmured as he slowly walked over, once more feeling his heart flutter and race. Was someone in the house? This one suspicion made him quickly close the door again, turning to hurry off to the kitchen. Within moments he'd yanked open a drawer and had a knife in his hand, his violet eyes shimmering with anxiety as he started to go on a walk through the house. He didn't care that he was just in a pair of boxers and a white shirt, he wanted to make sure nothing unseemly was lurking about.

Nothing other than the door was out of place, all of the rooms completely normal. The last room he decided to check was his fathers, having decided that once there he'd stay there. The discovery of the door had severely unsettled him after all. But… The room was empty. Not even Francis was there, sleeping in bed like he usually would. His bed was in disarray, showing he had indeed been there at one point. Matthew gave a childish whine, holding the knife up in an aggressive way, whirling around quickly to look around the room. "Papa?" He called, eyes wide. Perhaps this was another nightmare—he hoped that was all it was. It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up in a dream, to still be in the dream. Though as he backed away from the closed and nearby door, he jumped when his foot landed on something wet and chilly. He glanced down quickly, only to find an old rag under his foot.

He knelt to pick it up, inspect it, his brow furrowing. Cautiously he took a slight sniff at it, almost immediately jerking away and holding the rag to arm's length. It was chloroform, he'd smelled it before at his work. He shook away the slight dizzy feeling he had, both from the chemical and worry. Where was his father? The Canadian held the knife close to his chest as he stepped quickly to the side of the room, scooping up his father's cellphone from the desk. Turning it on, he immediately dialed up the first number he thought of. He sat on the bed, shuddering, as he waited, hoped, for the other to pick up. Ring after ring, his hope diminished, before he heard the familiar voice he'd anxiously waited for.

"Yo. Who's callin', it's so fucking early…" A tired voice murmured into the phone, obviously irritated for being woken.

"Alfred! It's Matthew. I really need to—Can you come over? No, wait- can I come to your place?" he asked rapidly, the other male groaning.

"Mattie, come on… I'm not in the mood for morning hockey. I still have bruises from falling on the ice last time—"

"It's super important, and it's not hockey. Something's wrong, Francis is gone." Matthew cut him off, whining softly.

"Matt, he probably just went to the store or somethin'…" Alfred slurred, his voice trailing off into a yawn.

"No, Alfred, the door was left wide open and there was a chloroform rag on the ground. I'm not making this up, I swear." he pleaded, "Whoever it was may still be here, I really need to come over."

"Really? Well… I'll go unlock the door then… Mmn, just come on in when you get here." Alfred replied, now sounding a little concerned. After that, he didn't bother waiting for a reply, simply hanging up.

Matthew gave a small sigh of relief, simply pulling on a pair of his father's pants and one of his jackets before heading out, knife still in hand. He tugged his bike from the side of the house, seeing as how Alfred's house wasn't that far away, and within a few breath-losing minutes he was up at the American's door.


End file.
